All For You
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: A series of vignettes set to music, exploring the rise and fall of Mark and Lexie's relationship during her marriage to Jackson. Sort-of related to my other two stories, though possibly it may work as a stand-alone as well. NOW REVISED.


Title: All For You

Summary: A series of vignettes set to music, exploring the rise and fall of Mark and Lexie's relationship during her marriage to Jackson.

Author's Note: For more background, read my stories _After _and/or _I Heard You've Been Missing Me._

Please note: This story will in **no way** will affect the course of IHYBMM. I am continuing that story, but **this is not** the continuation. Also, it is important to know that during each section, I switch from Mark's POV to Lexie's. I hope that isn't confusing.

Inspiration:_ All For a Woman _by The Airborne Toxic Event. (Please excuse my slight tweaking of the pronouns in the lyrics.)

*Format is now correct. Please enjoy. (I recommend listening to the song, if you've never heard it.)*

**_._**

**_All of these grateful looks, all these grateful eyes,_**

**_ All these furious stares, these fretful sighs,_**

**_Promising everything to everyone, "We'll be back soon; you're my favorite one."_**

_._

"I'll be back on the twenty-third."

"Okay."

"Are you working?"

"Yes."

"Well…" She pauses, drawing out the word, and you know your attitude isn't helping. Your clipped responses aren't helping. Your refusal to meet her eyes before she leaves for the next month isn't helping. You're acting childish, and you know you'll regret not looking at her one last time later.

You always regret it later.

"I can take some time off," you offer. You swallow and look up; you meet her eyes as she stands by the front door. Her hand is resting on the small wooden table hesitantly. You can tell, even from across the room, that she doesn't want to pick up those keys. She doesn't want to put that ring back on. She doesn't want to leave.

_So why are you making her?_

"You sure you can't stay?" You hear yourself inquire quietly. Watching the muscles in her face pinch together, you immediately regret asking. This is hard enough already. It always is. "Nevermind," you mutter, looking down again. "Forget I…" You trail off; your ears are suddenly consumed with the repetitive _clack-clack _sound of her boots on your hardwood floor as she crosses the room. She stands before you for a second, but still you don't look up. Up-close-and-personal goodbyes have never worked for you. You much prefer catching her eye across a crowded room or having her glance over her shoulder fleetingly as she walks away with her hand in his. You've never thought about it until now, but you're suddenly aware of why you like those sorts of goodbyes—it makes you both powerless.

Unlike now. Unlike the up-close-and-personal, where you and she both have all the power in the world at your disposal to exert over the other. Just one touch, and she might be here for a few hours more. Just one more kiss, and you wouldn't be able to let her leave even if she had to. Just a few words, and she'll be in your arms again, repeating them and promising never to leave.

You're brought away from your thoughts when you see her purse fall to the ground. Your eyes fly up to her face immediately, but the expression she's wearing isn't one you can read. You watch, silent, as she takes off her coat and unzips her boots. Her shirt soon follows, and they all fall into a heap on the floor.

It's a soundless, torturous, and one-sided perversion of your first night with her.

_Teach me, _she used to say. You remember that night as clearly as if it were yesterday. _Love me_, she used to say.

But that was over ten years ago. Now, things have changed. Now, it's all gone wrong.

You're the one begging this time, but you don't even have the courage to voice your pleas aloud. Part of you doesn't even know what you're begging for. You can't speak, but, as always, she seems to know what you want to say and what you're thinking. She reads your mind and gives you want you want. She always gives you what you want.

She's selfless like that, you realize as she settles into your lap and straddles you. Her hips gyrate momentarily against yours, and your eyes fall closed. She isn't the selfish one anymore, you are. Again and again, constantly, she gives herself to you.

Again and again, she donates another piece of herself to your lost cause.

"_I love you."_

Her voice is hushed and shaking as she whispers those three words. She stares at you, her eyes wide and dark. You can see the hurt hiding just beneath the surface as the seconds tick by and her words hang in the air, unanswered. Unacknowledged.

After a few seconds, she smiles half-heartedly. She kisses you, wraps her arms around your neck, and murmurs softly, "lie back."

You do so, more because she's gently pushing you then because you actually want to. And then she's bending over you, pushing your t-shirt out of the way and kissing your skin gently. As her lips make their way up your torso, you start feeling isolated drops of water hitting your skin, to the left and right of where she plants her light kisses. You look down, realizing a split-second before you see her wet face that she's crying.

"Sorry," she murmurs, as if a shortcoming of hers that she cares enough about you to be crying. She lifts a hand to quickly wipe her face and pretend nothing's happened. She resumes kissing you, her hands slinking up your sides and trailing along your ribs. She whispers soft words against your skin, and each time she speaks, your throat grows tighter and the lump stuck in it grows larger.

And finally, you're face to face. She's bent above you; you can see directly into each other's eyes now. She repeats her soft words from before, as if she thought you might not have heard them, or possibly misinterpreted their universal meaning. She would never imagine you would ignore them, as you had.

"I'll always love you, Mark."

She's giving you everything.

She's giving you all that she has, all that she can, so why isn't it enough? You can't lie to yourself anymore and say it's because of him.

It isn't him.

It's you.

_Why can't you just say it back?_

_._

**_"I'll keep it quiet," "I'll hold you dear," The whispering fills the ear,_**

**_"Tell me you'll stay, we would have such fun," And the lie, you don't need anyone._**

_._

You take a shallow breath. And another. You stare at him, waiting until he feels your gaze and meets your eyes. "Do you really think we can do this?" Your question is voiced in a whisper, as if there are others to overhear in this empty apartment.

His reply is immediate. "Yes. I want to."

"No, Mark…" You sigh. "I know… I know you _want_ to, but I need to know if you _can._" You swallow. "Because if in two months you can't—can't do this because you can't stand seeing a ring on my finger or seeing me live with him or—"

"Lexie."

"If you're going to back out," you whisper, "do it now. If you're going to leave me, leave now. Because I can't…" You sniff, trying to control your emotions. "I can't live knowing that every time I look into your eyes, I'll see hatred in yours. I can't live knowing that you won't love me anymore the second I leave this room and go back to him."

"I'll always love you, Lexie."

"And I'll always love you." Your voice is cracking on the words; you wish it were strong like his.

He takes a step closer, and you freeze. "Mark," you murmur. Your tone is warning him away, but he doesn't heed it. "Mark, please."

"I love you, Lexie," he repeats. "I've loved you for years, and I'm certain I'll love you for the rest of my life."

You bite your lip, swallow your fear, and look up at him. "So does that mean we're still doing this?"

He nods. "But," he adds quietly, "on one condition."

You stare at him, and the word is out of your mouth before you're even sure of what you're agreeing to. "Anything."

"If you end this—"

"I won't," you vow fiercely.

"If you end this," he repeats, "I 'm allowed to tell him."

You almost sway on your feet, his words make you that unsteady. "What?" You manage to ask a few seconds alter.

He looks you in the eye. "If you end this, Lex, you cannot forbid me from telling him if I want to. You _cannot_ stop me from trying to get you back."

You stares at him, shocked. "Is that… Is that what this is? Are you—have you done all this just to try to get me back?" You eyes grow wide, scared and worried for him. "Mark, I'm _married_—"

"No," he interrupts quietly. "I've done all this because I can't live without you. But when the day comes that you realize you can live without me, and you give me up, I reserve the right to do whatever it takes to get you back." He stares at her. "That includes telling him."

You take a deep breath. You knew there would be a catch. And this one is relatively easy to live with, seeing as you don't plan on ever leaving him. "Okay," you reply.

"Okay?"

You nod. "I'll do anything to keep you in my life." You offer him a weak smile. "You should know that by now. And if that means there's the potential he'll find out about us, then I'll live with it. As long as you're here with me," you add.

He smiles at your stipulation, his eyes warm.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be."

_._

**_The screams, the wails, and the calls, The headiness of the fall._**

**_Ten thousand miles from where we began, I fell asleep with a picture in hand._**

**.**

It was a sunny day, you remember. That's why you look so uncomfortable in the picture; the sun was staring you right in the face. That, and Callie had just been standing over you, cooing incessantly to "look cuter" and "act like you like her for once." You'd grumbled that of course you liked her, she was your damn girlfriend; yet Callie had just rolled her eyes.

"Act like it, then," she had instructed, lifting the camera again as you frowned back at her. Lexie had grinned—you remember because she caught your eye just a second before and by the look in it, you knew something was up—and then she'd moved forward, latching her hands onto your shoulders and tilting her face up to yours. You're laughing in the picture because her eyes are wide and focused on you, and her mouth is agape like one of those cheesy posters of star-struck lovers in romance movies. You'd pushed her away almost immediately—not before Callie snapped this ridiculous-looking picture, though—and Lexie had almost doubled over in laughter at her own hilarity. You had shaken your head, looked away, and pretended you didn't notice the insane girl cackling next to you.

When she calmed down a few seconds later, she crawled back into your lap, still chuckling, and told you to stop being such a party-pooper. You had replied dryly that someone must have already taken a shit on this party; that's how dull it was. She punched you and said, "Be _nice_, it's a hospital party." Apparently that meant we were all supposed to behave.

. . .

The picture rests in the bottom drawer of your dresser, nestled with your old clothes you haven't bothered to throw away yet. You rarely open the drawer. And you barely ever look at the picture, let alone hold it in your hands like you are now.

But something's different today. Maybe it's because you know she's leaving, most likely for good. Her things are boxed, packed, and shipped. You overheard Meredith telling Derek yesterday that she's leaving at six tomorrow morning. You sigh, set the picture down, and run your hands over your face and through your hair.

She's leaving and you need to accept that.

She might never be back, but you knew this was a possibility, didn't you, when this all started? You knew there was a time when you and her would finally have to end, once and for all. And you knew it would break off like this—with her going and you staying behind. She'll make her way to Portland with him, and you'll be left right—

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. You glance at the picture, debate putting it away, but then the knock sounds again. Whoever it is won't venture this far back in your apartment to see it anyway, you tell yourself as you head to the door. On your way past the kitchen, you spy the digital reading on the microwave: 12:03. _When did it get so late? _You half-jog the last few feet to the door, knowing it must be an emergency for there to be someone knocking on your door so late. Maybe Derek's hurt, or Sofia, or maybe you didn't hear a page… You brace yourself for the worst as you pull the door open—and you're graced with the best.

"Hi." Her voice is a whisper and there's a tiny, nervous smile on her face, like she's worried you'd be mad to see her on your doorstep. Though you're too shocked to say anything, she doesn't seem to register this, and she babbles on like usual. "You—probably know this already… But I'm leaving tomorrow. P—Portland, I'm going to Portland, and, well, it's my last night at home, in—in Seattle, and I…" She pauses, finally taking a breath. "I wanted to spend it with you, Mark."

You pull open the door silently, and she steps in. You close it behind her, walking around her until she stands before you with her back to the wall. She's already left her things on the small table by the door.

You close your eyes, and take a step forward. She doesn't step back. You take another step, and soon your chests are touching and your lips are hovering just centimeters from hers, separated only by your difference in height.

"How long can you stay?" You ask quietly, blinking your eyes slowly open. She's staring up at you, her dark brown eyes deep and full of love. You know already, how long she can stay, but you ask anyway, just to hear her response.

She smiles before she replies, as if she knows your little game. She reaches up then, and strokes the side of your face. You remember doing that to her once, years ago. Her gentle fingers caress your skin and you feel your eyes fall closed again.

"As long as you want me to," she whispers in reply. She smiles again, and you feel yourself smile back, before she stretches her legs and presses her lips against yours.

_._

**_You say that you're grateful for the time alone, _**

**_Two years away, "No, I don't miss home."_**

**_._**

You click open your phone, scroll through your contacts list, and keep one name highlighted. You stare at it, half-begging the thing to ring. And half-hoping you'd have the courage to call yourself, or maybe just answer if it ever does ring. But it doesn't.

Things have changed since you moved. You can't remember the last time you two have spoken over the phone. Or the last time you've spoken. Even when you see each other, you two have spent your time in near silence, with only a couple words uttered by each.

Maybe next time, one of you will start talking, and the wall will break between the two of you. Maybe next time, you won't be able to stop talking even if you had wanted to. Maybe it will be like that fist night at the Archfield, and you two will laugh and talk like old friends, lying together and wrapped in each other's arms. But you know that won't happen again. You've grown out of that friendly, joking phase. You've grown out of the lust-filled, erotic phase. All that's left is the hurt, and the reminder of how greatly, how deeply and honestly, you used to love each other.

"Do you miss him?"

You practically jump out of your skin at the question. _He knows. _Your husband's voice is a few inches above your head and his hands are on your shoulders. "Wha—What?" You manage a croak a few seconds later, quickly exiting the contacts screen. You try to swallow your fear, but it only gets stuck in your throat. You force yourself to turn around, though, and face him like the brave person you know you aren't. _You knew this day would come_, you remind yourself, trying to be strong. "What are you talking about?"

He smiles at you, and you feel your stomach drop out of your body. _Oh, god. He knows. He really, really knows._

But then he speaks, and the smile stops being threatening and resumes being loving. "Meredith," he replies. "Do you miss her?"

"Do—Do I miss her?" You repeat, feeling relief wash over you and you heart rate begin to settle. _You misheard him, that's all, _you tell yourself. _He doesn't know. He has no idea. _You force a smile. _How could he?_

"Yeah," he continues. "You were staring at her number. Why don't you just call her?"

"No." You shake your head, grateful he couldn't read your thoughts as easily as he can a cell phone screen. "No, I don't want to bother her."

"It wouldn't be a bother. I'm sure she'd be happy to hear from you."

"She's probably working," you excuse.

"Nonsense," he smiles. He reaches around you to pick up your phone, and clicks it to start to call. He holds it out to you as it rings, and you take it immediately, almost snatching it out of his hand. He smiles encouragingly as you get up from the chair and walk a few feet away to conduct your call.

The line clicks, on one of the few early rings. Just as you'd expected.

"Hello?"  
>"Hey." You force yourself to keep your voice neutral. "It's me."<p>

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply. You smile—genuine, this time—at the concern. "I'm fine."

"How's Portland?"

"Fine," you reply again.

"Was there…" There's a pause on the line. "Was there a reason you called?"

"I'd like to see you sometime." Your words are quiet, almost hushed, and you realize you need to speak louder. You glance over your shoulder and catch your husband's eye. "Maybe in a couple weeks, when we come back up?"

Jackson smiles; you knew he'd be on-board.

"Sure," comes the reply through the phone, just as quiet as your question. "When you decide on a date, just text me and…" Another pause. The voice lowers. "We'll figure it out."

"Yes," you reply, gathering the meaning behind the words. "We will."

"See?" Jackson smiles a minute later when you end the call. "That wasn't so hard." He puts a hand on your shoulder. "Good timing, by the way. There's a conference in Seattle in two weeks; we can go down then."

You manage a smile. "Sounds great," you reply as he heads back to continue unpacking in the other room. Your eyes follow him, making sure he's walking away. Then you turn on your phone, open up the contacts, and type quickly: _Sorry. He was right there._

_ It's fine, _comes the reply just seconds later. _I figured as much. _There's a beat of non-communication before the second reply. _It might have been more convincing if you'd called me Meredith once or twice._

_ Yeah, _you type back in reply._ I'll do that next time. _You smile sadly, remembering when he first noticed you'd assigned his number under your sister's name in your cell. He hadn't understood right away, but you knew it would be necessary. If your husband's suspicions were ever aroused, what would look more questionable on your phone records: hundreds of texts and calls to and from the ex-boyfriend you sneak away to see in the middle of the night… or near-constant communication with the beloved sister you dearly miss?

.

**_Someone asks you if you ever think of her, And you smile politely and you're demure._**

_._

"All I'm saying is, you need to find someone."

You take a tired breath. "Yes, Derek," you drone for the twentieth time tonight.

"Or at least _get laid, _man. It's been—" He breaks off, and you know he must be staring at you. Instead of meeting his eyes, you look straight ahead and take another sip of your scotch. "How long has it been again?"

"Since I had sex or since I dated someone?" You ask, bored and waiting for clarification.

"Mark." His voice is quiet, hard. It's the tone a mother would use to scold her child.

"What, Derek?"

"Tell me something."

"Sure."

"Have you dated anyone since Lexie?"

You body freezes at the name. It takes you a few seconds to feel the blood flowing through your body again, and even longer for you to turn your incredulous expression on your best friend. By then, it's clear by the look on his face that you've taken too long.

"Has there been anyone since her?"

"What do you think?" You try snapping the words like you're annoyed at him, but they come out cold and threatening instead, like she's a sore subject. And she is.

"She's married, Mark."

"I know that."

His face has changed now. His chin has lifted, and suddenly he's looking down on you. He's looking straight down at you. Internally, you curse yourself for using that defensive tone. "Tell me you haven't done anything stupid," he demands.

An amused smile breaks over your face, a chuckle falls from your mouth. You take another swig of scotch and eye your friend over the rim of the glass. "What, you think I slept with her?"

"You've done it before," Derek replies, though his voice wavers and his eyes lower as if he's no longer convicted in his rash judgment of you.

"Yeah," you drawl. "I've done it before. And look how far it got me."

Derek stares at you a moment more before settling back into his seat again and taking a sip of his drink. "Sorry," he mutters a moment later. "I just—"

You wave a hand. "Don't worry about it. I've done it before, people don't change, I get it, I get it."

He doesn't reply to this, and the two of you lapse into silence at your barstools. The minutes tick by, and the ambient sounds from the rest of the room rise and fall with the tide of other people's conversations. Finally, he speaks.

"Do you ever wish you could go back?"

You turn to face your friend. "What?"

"Do you wish you could go back and, you know, fix things between you and her?"

You narrow your eyes. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Well…" Derek trails off. "You always seemed so…"

"What?" You ask again, your tone sharper this time. Derek doesn't notice. He's looking at you, but also half looking away. You can tell he doesn't want to say what he's thinking. But he says it anyway.

"You always seemed so…" He shakes his head before blurting it out. "So _in love_ with her. I've never seen you act that way with anyone else, and I thought you guys…" He shrugs. "I thought you guys would last or something."

"Yeah, well…" You throw back the last of your scotch. "We didn't. And people change, Derek." You stare at him. "You can't love someone forever."

Derek nods, contemplating this. He glances to you sidelong. "Do you ever wonder what would've happened if you two had worked out, though?" He asks quietly. "Do you wonder where you would be now, if you were with her?"

_Every day._

"No," you reply automatically. Derek's eyebrows raise; you've piqued his interest.

"Really?" He questions. "Why not?"

"I'm not one to dwell on the past," you lie. "And we were always so on-and-off. What's the point of imagining a future when you can't even get through one year without breaking up?"

"I didn't ask what the point was," Derek replies, "I just asked if you ever thought about it."

"Do I ever think about her?" You shrug. "Sure, every once in a while. Just like Addie or Teddy or Sloane's mother, I think about her. …But do I ever imagine a _life_ with her, with a married woman?" You turn to stare at your best friend, your eyes focused on his. "No, Derek, I don't think about that."

He stares back at you for a moment before nodding slowly. He's looking your lies right in the face, and he's writing them off as the truth. Possibly because he doesn't know any better, but most likely because he's your best friend. Despite the hundreds of times you've lied to him, the times you've betrayed him, he'll always try to see the best in you. You appreciate that, even if it's incredibly foolhardy. It's nice to have someone who trusts you, even if they shouldn't.

A second later, you look him in the eye. "Why are you so curious?" You ask. You grin a moment later. "Are you trying to justify yourself?" You laugh. "Have you been thinking about Addison again, Derek?"

He groans aloud, laying his head on the counter. As he begins to talk, you know you've successfully ended the conversation without any suspicions. You order another scotch and listen to him complain about his perfect life for an hour or two.

_._

**_But then all at once your head starts to swim,_**

**_You can feel his breath on your skin_**

**_You find that you stare at the same spot for days_**

**_He's above you, below you in waves._**

_._

You scrunch your nose when you sense light flooding the dark on-call room you're currently napping in. Still half-asleep, you roll away from the light. You hear a pair of feet walk across the room, and a voice apologize softly. You smile faintly when the person kisses your forehead lightly, and you open your eyes a few seconds later. You catch a fleeting glance of your husband before he leaves the room, no doubt rushing off to surgery. You sigh quietly, closing your eyes again.

You hear the door open a second time, but this person is silent and moves slowly. He or she is no doubt just like you—exhausted and trying to find a place to catch a couple hours of sleep before the next shift. But then you hear this person walk to the edge of your bed. Confused, your eyes flicker open and curiously examine the room's other occupant.

You freeze in place the second you see him.

He's crouched before you, a small smile on his face. "Hey," he whispers. When you don't respond, continuing to simply stare, he smirks at you and asks what's wrong. You shake your head, prop yourself up on the cot, and feel you whole body shake as tears come to your eyes.

You don't waste a moment—you spring forward, pulling him into a tight hug and holding him close. His arms wrap around you as well, almost cradling your body to his, and you can feel him breathe you in as he buries his head into your hair.

You pull back reluctantly a second later, your eyes wide and disbelieving.

"You're here?" You whisper urgently, your hands moving all over his face, neck and shoulders, as if touching him will make certain he's real. He smiles beneath your fingers, amused.

"I'm here." He reaches up, taking one of your hands in his. You almost collapse at the contact—this _real _contact between you and him—and then he places your hand on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your palm. He's real and alive and he isn't a hallucination. He's here, right in front of you. He's here, holding you.

"You came," you whisper in awe, staring at him. You don't know what else to say. You can't translate your overwhelming feelings into thoughts, nor string together enough words you could say to him that would be able to explain everything coherently. So you simply state what you both know to be true, feeling the tears threaten again. "You came for me."

A happy smile spreads wide over his face. Even though it's the barest of facts, he seems to be pleased that you came to that conclusion on your own. "Of course I did," he whispers. He stares at your for a few minutes before getting to his feet and joining you on the small bed. You stare at him, taking quick, shallow breaths. You can't believe this is real. Again, as if he can tell what you're thinking, he takes your hand and places it over his heart, proving his own existence.

Its beat has quickened. You stare at it, hidden beneath his clothes and skin, muscles and bones. When your eyes rise slowly to his, you feel your own heartbeat accelerate. You don't even take a second to think. You all but fall forward, powerless to the attraction, the draw, the ever present _need _you have to be close to him. You cover his body with yours and swallow his lips in a kiss, and you lie together, uninterrupted for the rest of the afternoon.

Afterward, as the seconds and minutes slowly tick by, the sweat cools from your body. Your heartbeat slows from its rapid, manic pace, and the rush of color starts to fade from your skin. When you're almost back to normal, he whispers in your ear.

"Do you want to go home?" His voice is quiet and inquisitive.

And you bury your face in his neck, because it's all too good to be true. This can't really be happening... _Yet it is._ You kiss his skin, and squeeze your eyes tight.

"Yes," you whisper in reply. "I want to go home."

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you. You feel weightless for a time, and you slowly come to terms with the fact that he's probably picked you up. You close your eyes at the sensation, and you suddenly realize how tired you are. And because you feel safe in his arms, you let yourself float away. You smile faintly, adjusting yourself more comfortably within his arms. You're on your way home.

. . .

When you open your eyes, you are immediately met by a blinding white color. You blink, but the white doesn't fade. The color becomes less brilliant, but, oddly, it doesn't conform to his skin tone. You sniff. You can't smell him. You narrow your eyes and bring your hand forward. You don't feel him. All your fingers touch is fabric, soft and pliable.

And you feel your throat grow tight. You squeeze your eyes shut again, but there's nothing in the darkness behind your lids. You open them and then slowly sit up. For a split-second, you start to smile at your unfamiliar surroundings. _This must be home, _you think happily. But then the smile falters as you recognize the color the walls are painted, and the bedspread tangled around your legs. You look over, but there's no one lying next to you. You're thankful beyond words that Jackson isn't here to see this—and that single thought touches off everything else. You feel your chin tremble, and you raise a hand to cover your mouth, though it barely quiets the sound of your despair.

Sobs escape from your mouth; they tear you apart as you attempt to hold the noise in. You duck your head between your bended knees and rock your body back and forth, back and forth, in an attempt to calm yourself as the tears cascade down your cheeks from your endless waterfall eyes.

_I'm home_, you realize, feeling your chest crack and your heart break as you become aware of the fact that it was all just a meaningless dream. _He's brought me home_.

"He's not here," you whisper raggedly to yourself. Somehow saying the words aloud made the truth that much more unbearable; it's almost too much to stand. You life your head, pull your knees against your chest, and hug your body hard as if holding yourself together will stop the pain. "He's not here," you say again, feeling the tears fall more freely. You repeat the words again and again, like a torturous mantra, until you finally can't say them anymore.

You wrap your arms tightly around your body and bury your face into your knees. Your head throbs and your heart aches, and you're completely exhausted.

_He isn't here, _you think to yourself, just before your mind shuts down.

So it can't be home, now, can it?

_._

**_And you're shivering cold, like you're just ten years old. _**

**_And she's lying asleep in your bed_**

**_And you're standing beside her, the light from inside her_**

**_Filling up the darkness in your head._**

_._

You left her hours ago. You're not sure why, but you just couldn't stand lying next to her in bed anymore. It used to be the only place where you felt connected to her, but suddenly it's become the opposite. You can't sleep with her there, you can't think with her there…

Not that you can think much out here, in your empty living room. Or sleep much, on this small couch with no blanket and no warm body next to you. You've just decided that you have to go back, to be there when she wakes, when you here a _swish-swish _sound moving across the floor. You look to your left, and there she is. She wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top she left in your apartment last time, and there's a large down duvet cover wrapped around her back. It _swish_es across the floor with every step she takes. She sits down next to you on the couch. Neither of you says a word for the first couple minutes.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asks finally.

You shake your head.

"Then what is it?"

You take a breath: inhale, exhale. And then you look at her. "I just can't sleep," you admit, staring at her. "I don't know why, but I just lie wide awake in bed. I can't…" You surprise yourself, stopping mid-sentence to yawn. She gives you a small smile.

"You sound tired," she tells you.

"Maybe because I am," you reply dryly.

She doesn't take offense at your words, simply shakes the blanket from her arms and places her hand on your back. "How long has it been since you slept?" She asks quietly.

"It's…" You yawn again. "It's been…" You close your eyes, shaking your head. "I don't know how long it's been."

"Then come here," she whispers, her hand prodding at your back. You look over confused. It isn't until she turns your back to her and pulls on both shoulder blades that you understand that she wants you to lie down. You do so, and your head ends up in her lap. She smiles down at you, and her hair falls over your face. The strands are smooth and soft, and the scent of her shampoo overtakes you.

A moment later, she tucks her hair behind her ears. She then reaches down, closes your eyes with her fingers, and brushes your hair back with a hand. "Go to sleep," she instructs, her voice quiet and distant-sounding. "Just go to sleep." She leans down, bending over you, and presses her lips against yours. One of your hands reaches up, cupping her neck. You kiss back for a moment before letting go.

"Go to sleep," she says again after the kiss ends.

You hope she understood your thank you.

From the way her hands brush through your hair all through the night, and the soft kiss she presses to your left temple just before you fall asleep, you're certain she understood.

_._

**_And you've drowned in the teasing. You've forgotten the reason, The muse inspires the art,_**

**_You'd give anything for him to say them once more: The words you believed at the start._**

_._

_No, _you think. _He can't mean this. He can't want me to leave. He _can't _be serious._

"Did you not hear me?"

"Mark…" His name exits your mouth, strangled and choked. "Mark, you don't mean this. You're—you're upset—"

"Damn right, I'm upset."

The anger in his voice causes you to take stock of the situation. He's never rational when he's angry, you know that. You should just leave and come back tomorrow when he's cooled off. Just leave and come back. He'll listen tomorrow. He will. He has to.

You glance to the door. It's just a few feet away, yet you can't walk over and open it. You can't move. You're rooted to the spot. So you do your best to persuade him.

"Do—Do you remember when Derek told you to end it, to stop seeing me?"

He doesn't reply. He just stares at you.

"And when I told you it might be a good idea if we spent some time apart, just until Derek understood what we were, you refused? You said you wouldn't lie to him about us, you said you'd fight for us—" You take a quick, shallow breath. "Mark, why aren't you fighting anymore?"

"There's nothing to fight for." His voice is unusually calm. You wonder when he'll start yelling.

"Sure—Sure there is." You force a smile. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Yes, and I asked you to leave."

You stare at him, frozen. You wait for his eyes to soften, you wait for him to apologize and take it all back. Nothing happens. He stares at you, cold and unyielding.

"Mark…" You can barely get the word out, barely say his name. You suddenly realize this isn't a joke. This is real, and this might be the last time you'll ever see him, unless you can convince him otherwise. "Mark, what happened to us?"

Now he shows emotion. Now he looks right at you. But this is not what you want. His eyes are taunting, and his mouth is twisted in a mocking smirk.

"What happened to us?" He repeats. "Hm, I don't know, Lex…"

"Mark—"

"You married _him_," he all but shouts. "_That's _what happened to us. You left me for him, married him—and you can't keep coming back here thinking that I'll still want you after all that!"

Your breath catches at his words. He's been angry with you before, of course. You both have shouted, yelled, told the other to _leave me alone_. But not once, not ever, has he said this.

"You—You don't want me anymore?" You throat is tight and parched, and you're unsure as to how you're even able to force words through your esophagus.

"No," he replies coldly. "I want you to leave and I don't want to see you here anymore. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to touch you, I don't—"

"You're lying." Your voice is strong and calm and convicted and you thank God that you've managed this much, at least.

His eyes narrow up, zeroing in and glaring at you. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"You can't honestly say that you don't want me," you tell him. "You can't honestly say that you don't want to see me." You take a few steps forward, until you're able to look him in the eye from just two feet away. "You cannot look me in the eye and say you don't want to kiss me, touch me, or make love to me." You shake your head. "Because it would all be a lie, wouldn't it?"

"It wouldn't be a lie," he replies. You watch his Adam's Apple bob after he speaks; he's struggling to swallow everything left unsaid, you're sure of it.

"Are you sure about that?" You reach towards him, and for the first time ever, you see him cower away from your touch. "Mark," you whisper, taken aback. "Mark, I—

"

"Plea—Please go," he whispers. Tears are welling in his eyes. "Please just go." He blinks, and you watch them fall down his cheeks.

"Mark." Your so-called bravery from moments ago has fled; you can do nothing but whisper his name.

"Yes, I lied," he admits. "I lied because I didn't know what else to do. I—I can't keep doing this, not when I know you're with him and—" He breaks off, breathing heavily. He reaches forward, enclosing your face in his hands. "Yes, I want to touch you." He runs his thumbs over your cheeks. "Yes, I want to kiss you. Yes, I—" He blinks, and more tears fall down his cheeks. "Yes, I want to make love to you. I…" He drops his hands from your face, instead bringing them to his own and burying his face in his hands. "I just _can't, _Lexie. I want to be with you, I do, but I _can't _because you're with him and I—"

"I understand," you interrupt in a whisper. Your voice is hoarse, but the words are loud enough so he can hear. He stares at you, tensed and waiting. "I understand," you repeat, feeling your throat close up again. "I—I can leave, if you really want me to."

He nods. It's hard for him to do, you know, but what isn't anymore?

"I just… Can I ask you one favor, before I go?" You lift a hand to your face to brush your tears away and you take a step towards him. He nods his consent, and slowly, carefully, you reach up and rest your hands on his neck. You look into his eyes, and you ask quietly, "Will you tell me you love me?" You bite your lip to keep the tears from falling, but it doesn't work. "Just one more time, please, before I go?"

He nods, and he bends down to rest his forehead against yours. You suck in a breath when your skin touches, and you can't stop the tears anymore. He closes his eyes momentarily, and his own tears fall down his cheeks, released from the ruddy confines of his eyes.

"I love you, Lexie," he whispers. You stare up at him, take a breath, and unconsciously elevate yourself to his level. You're staring into his eyes, your lips about to meet… Until you settle back down. You flatten your feet on the hardwood floor, putting more space between you and him. And you manage a small smile, look in his eyes once more… And you bite your lip to keep from crying. You bite down so hard it draws blood, but you barely feel the sting.

"I love you, too," you whisper back. Your voice is barely audible, but you watch his chin duck briefly in a nod, so you know he heard. You take a shaky breath and step back. As much as you want to hug him goodbye, or squeeze his hand, or feel the exquisite pressure of his lips on yours one last time… You refrain from doing so.

You know that any one of those things will lead to so much more—to the both of you naked and wrapped in each other arms. It will lead to your promise that you will be back, and your endless upkeep of that vow. It will lead to him wasting his life waiting for you, saving himself for a woman who's never going to come back.

But it would also lead to love and happiness, if only for a couple hours, for a few nights a year…

You shake your head. _No. Stop. It's over._ You take another breath, and this time you turn away and head to the door. Your hand is on the doorknob when he calls your name.

You barely have a second to turn around before he's crossing the room, pressing you against the door, and kissing you harder than you ever remember him doing before.

This kiss lasts all of ten seconds, but the moment he pulls away, your eyes lock. And with that contact, there's no going back.

You tear off the ring on your finger as he hefts you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands on your back press your body closer—

Until he remembers his place.

You're both breathing heavy, wrapped up and around each other, yet he somehow finds it in himself to stop. "You said you understood," he whispers. "You said you understood why I had to make you leave, but do you understand _this—_" He clutches you tighter, and you feel your heartbeat pick up double-time as his fingers dig into your skin through your clothes. "Do you understand why I can't let you go, even when I'm begging you to leave, I can't _fucking _let you go—"

You cover his mouth with your hand. "I understand," you whisper, meeting his eyes. "I can't let you go, either… Because you're the love of my life."

You remove your hand, and it's barely a split second before his mouth crashes against yours. His lips are desperate and rough, hungry for something he knows you can't give him. Yet he doesn't let up. He steps forward, pressing you against the door again as his hands tangle in your hair and yours tug his shirt open. When your lips break apart, his hands slip from your hair and cradle your face. You feel like crying at how gently he's holding you now, and if you hadn't already shed all your tears, you know you would be.

"Never leave me," he whispers, his voice desperate and rasping. "Please, never leave me." His distraught tone should make his words sound like a plea, but to you, it's anything but. His words enter your ears, take root in your brain, and stamp themselves on your heart: they're a command.

_Never leave me._

And you nod, your chin trembling and your whole body shaking as he holds you tight. You hands travel from his chest to his cheeks. They rise to just beneath his eyes, and there, you wipe away his tears. He blinks, and you catch them on your fingertips before they have a chance to fall.

You lean forward, brushing your lips softly against his. When you pull back, his thumbs stroke the wet, smooth skin of your cheeks.

"I'll never leave you," you whisper, just before he hoists you up, positioning you more safely in his arms. "I'll never leave you," you say again, the first out of hundreds of repetitions tonight as he carries you back to bed.

_._

**_Ten thousand miles from where it began, falling asleep with her picture in hand._**

**_It was all, it was all, for the look in her eye._**

_._

"Are you asleep?" She whispers the words, and they float over her shoulder to your ear.

You shake your head even though she can't see it. "I'm awake," you reply after a moment. She rolls over, the covers shifting above her, as she turns to face you. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she excuses softly. You lift your arm from underneath the blankets, and your hand surfaces a moment later. It lingers between the two of you, hovering, until she takes it in hers and places it against her lips. She kisses your palm softly before resting it on her cheek.

"Are you okay?" You asks softly.

She nods. "I'm fine."

You shift forward, tilting your head closer and closer to hers until your foreheads are touching. "Why did you want to know if I was awake?"

"I don't know."

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" You ask quietly.

She shrugs.  
>"Can't you sleep?"<p>

She sighs heavily and closes her eyes for a moment. You lean forward, pressing your lips ever so gently against hers. "I'd just rather be awake," she replies in a whisper when you pull back.

You smile, inching forward until your body is pressed against hers. She kisses your shoulder, resting her forehead against it. You reach over with a free hand, stroking her hair softly. She hums quietly at the sensation, moving herself closer to you.

"I love when you do that," she murmurs against your skin. "You're the best at it."

"Me?" You ask with an absent-minded smile. "Why am I the best?" Your fingers follow the cascade of dark hair down her back before returning to the crown of her head. Your hand pauses when she stares up at you.

"Because you make me feel safe," she admits in a murmur. She blinks her large, dark eyes up at you, and you're once again reminded of how young and innocent she used to be. "And loved."

_._

**_For the promise and the lie_**

**_Of a woman._**

**_._**

"Lexie?"

You turn around, your hand on the door. "Yeah?"

He opens his mouth to ask a question, but seems to think better of it. "You're coming back, right?" He asks instead.

"Of course." You stare at him while you speak, watching as his eyes begin locked with yours, but soon flick to rest on the floor. You take a breath, walking across the few feet that separate the two of you. "You know I would never lie to you, don't you?"

He stares up at you, but doesn't make a response. You continue anyway, because somehow, you know that he needs to hear this. Maybe this was the question he was too afraid to ask.

"I know it might be hard to believe," you begin quietly. "But I have never lied to you. I've omitted things, that's true, but I have never—" you pause, staring into his face "—_never_ looked you in the eye and told you a lie."

He blinks, acknowledging this with a small nod. "What about him?" He questions quietly a second later. "You lie to—"

"I don't lie to the people I love." Your interruption is calm and firm. It's final, and he takes it as such.

You watch his eyes fall closed, and see him sigh a breath of relief. This was it, you realize, all along. He's always needed to know that you put him first, above everyone else. He's always needed to know that you loved him most, loved him hardest, and loved him best.

And now he knows.

You've always wondered why he constantly questioned his place in the hierarchy of your heart—what was the point, anyway? There is no hierarchy. He's the only one there. He's absorbed everyone else, he's taken over everyone else; he's become your sole focus.

"I promise you," you murmur in his ear, as you hug him for the last time, "I will always come back to you."

.

_Author's Note: __**Please** review. It makes me really happy to see all of your wonderful feedback, even if you hated it. :)_


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